


How To Save A Life (Ish)

by lost_spook



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Red Dwarf
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Humor, Martha Jones is awesome, Rimmer being Rimmer, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:17:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes what you get isn't what it seems - and further proof that Martha can sort out everyone's problems. Well, almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Save A Life (Ish)

Quick,” said the Doctor, tugging Martha after him, into a cave mouth and out of the hail of bullets. “In here!”

She peered out, as he set to work on constructing a device to broadcast a signal, which he said would jam all their enemies’ bits and bobs of machinery, thereby destroying the city they were operating from and leave the planet to enjoy a spot of peace for a minute or two, well, unless he got distracted at the vital moment and then it might possibly broadcast Vivaldi’s Four Seasons instead. “But you never know,” he added with a grin, “that might do the trick anyway. Not renowned for their musical composition, the Caraphilarians.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Martha, half hanging out the entrance. “Doctor, will you look at this? Someone just -”

He had three different coloured wires in his mouth. “Mrpha.”

“I really, really, don’t believe it. Ooh. _Ouch_. That’s got to hurt.”

He pulled the wires out of his mouth and twisted them together. “Martha, what are you on about?”

“Some guy,” she said, turning her head. “Came out of nowhere on one of those motorbike things, shot down the sniper, then flung himself halfway across the field, hitting the outpost of guards. Although, I do mean hitting it. Head first, actually.”

The Doctor frowned. “Oh, no,” he said. “It couldn’t be, could it? Smarmy sort of bloke, with unlikely hair? Mention kippers, did he?”

“Bit hard to tell,” said Martha. “I’m going to see if he’s all right.”

She was right out before he could tell her to come back this instant – not that that ever worked, he reflected with a sigh. “Martha!”

“It’s okay,” she said, looking back in. “He’s taken out our immediate problems and I won’t be long. You carry on with sorting out the Classic FM broadcast, Doctor.”

He dropped the screwdriver and stared after her. “Oy,” he said belatedly.

*

Martha scrambled down the rocky slope, keeping a careful eye out for any more enemy snipers, but she reached the bottom safely and raced across to the fallen figure, turning him over. “Sir,” she said. “You okay, there? That was crazy, but the bravest thing I ever saw.”

He blinked and murmured, “Stick me a cuppa, I’ll be back for elevenses.”

“Uh, sir?” said Martha, putting a hand to his forehead. “Can you hear me?”

He sat up. He did partially match the Doctor’s description in one respect: his hair was so unlikely that she was pretty sure it must be a wig twisted round at an unflattering angle. “Ow,” he said. “Oh, smeg. I’m never going to get the hang of this.”

“You might have just saved our lives,” she informed him, her admiration beginning to turn to amusement, but no less grateful.

He straightened himself. “Ah. Yes, of course, where was I?” His voice deepened markedly as he continued. “All in a day’s work and all that. Absolutely, madam. Think nothing of it. Ow,” he added, in what was clearly his natural voice, far more high-pitched and nasal than the one he’d been affecting, or trying to. “Ouch, _ow_.”

“Let me have a look at you,” she said, biting back laughter. “You went into that thing head first, you know.”

He tried for a casual grin, but it didn’t quite come off. “Ah, well, no damage done there, then. Ow – what the smeg is wrong with my leg?” The accent slipped again at the intrusion of pain. “It won’t need amputation, will it?”

“If you’ll let me look -”

He paused. “And are you a qualified Doctor or just some nosy parker?” The macho tone had entirely deserted him now.

“Nearly qualified. As good as,” she said. “What are you, a trainee hero, or something?”

He gaped at her. “What?”

“Well, I don’t get it,” she informed him, attempting to pull his boot off.

He fainted.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” said Martha, rolling her eyes. _Some hero._

*

“Right, you back with me, mystery guy?” she asked as he sat up and winced again.

He nodded. “Yes.” Then he thought about it and added, in the other voice, “Yes, madam. And may I say what a pleasure it is to – ah – erm – conk out on you?”

“You may,” she returned, shaking her head. “Want to know what’s wrong here? Far as I can tell, you’ve got a sprained ankle – and you might want to adjust your wig.”

He reverted to the more natural voice instantly, deflating completely. “Right,” he said, pulling the wig off to reveal short, curly dark hair. “Smeg. I’m packing this in. I don’t know whose insane idea it was – oh, yeah, Mr Smarmy-git himself with the aid of Dave-I-failed-art-college-Lister -”

“I’m Martha,” she said, holding out a hand and breaking into the incomprehensible complaining. “Who are you?”

He coughed. “Arnold Rimmer, but call me -” He paused and screwed up his face, “Ace. I should have asked this earlier, but are you an hallucination?”

“No, definitely not. Should I be?”

He said, “Well, it usually is when attractive women are talking to me, instead of running away or slapping me.”

“Okay,” said Martha, choosing to ignore what she assumed was a bad chat-up line. “I haven’t got the faintest idea what any of this is about, but you’re not doing too badly. The way you rode in on that thing, shot that sniper and then took out this lot - I mean, that was seriously impressive.”

“Oh, that,” he said, still despondent. “Couldn’t control the smegging thing, set the gun off accidentally and then got thrown off right over here, landing headfirst on top of this lot.”

She laughed aloud. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? That sort of coincidence is impossible.”

“Look,” he said, “not that I want to cast doubt on your nearly qualified status – very reassuring that, I don’t think – but a sprained ankle? Are you sure? I’m a hard light hologram. Is that even possible?”

Martha raised her eyes, but she’d learnt not to be too surprised by the oddness of the universe. “Well, stand up and see.”

He did, yelped, and fell over, sending a discarded grenade flying over their shoulders, just as another of the Caraphilarians came into sight, gun at the ready. The green lizard-like alien exploded instantly.

“You see?” said Rimmer, sinking into gloom. “And even if I get the rest of it straight, there’s the stupid catchphrase. Who wants smegging kippers anyway?”

Martha swallowed back more laughter, then straightened his leather jacket and dusted him down a bit. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she said. “I don’t know why you want to be running around like some kind of hero, but keep up that sort of bad luck and your enemies won’t know what’s hit them. Literally. All you need to do is remember to keep the daft wig straight. Do you need it?” she added, curiously. “You look a lot better without it.”

“Do I?” she said, and if she’d thought it was impossible for his voice to get any higher pitched, she was proved wrong. He coughed again. “It’s about the image, you know.”

Martha smiled. “Right. Put on the wig and you’re a hero?”

“No,” he said, with sudden acidity, “put the girly hair back on and I’m a nauseatingly smug bastard of a nancy-boy git, but that’s the idea.”

She said, “Look, if you can stand, I’ll help you along – the Doctor’s here and we’ll give you a lift back to wherever. We owe you.”

“Right,” he said, whimpering again as she helped him get to his feet. “You couldn’t not mention the ankle, could you? Sounds a bit sissy.”

Martha said, “I’ll tell him you broke your leg, but still managed to walk all the way.”

“And he _would_ ,” said Rimmer with unexpected loathing.

She frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“ _Him_ ,” said Rimmer. “The other me. Look, can you give me the wig back? It’s less confusing.”

She said, “You’re kind of crazy, but sweet.”

“I’m sorry, I think my ears are playing up,” he said, achieving an even squeakier note. “What did you say then?”

Martha rolled her eyes. “Well, ish, anyway. Why?”

“Well, girls tend to say things like ‘Rimmer, you’re a git’. And that’s the compliments. Mind you, one of them once said, ‘Rimmer you’re not as much of a git as I thought’.”

“That’s something.”

He said, “Not really. Then she said, ‘You’re even worse – you’re a complete and total smeghead’. But up until then, it was the nicest thing anyone’d ever said to me.”

“Oh,” said Martha. “Maybe you hadn’t just saved her life?”

He brightened. “So, you want to go somewhere and have sex?”

“No!” she said.

He took this without surprise. “Damn. That never works, either. What’s he got that I haven’t?”

“Subtlety, hopefully,” said Martha, feeling tempted to take him up on the slapping thing. “You might get credit for honesty, but that’s about it, other than probably being arrested for harassment.”

He said, “Vomit-inducing fancy-pants got away with it. You think if I put the wig back on, and the voice-?”

“Definitely not,” said Martha. “I don’t know who these hypothetical females are, but that’s not a turn on for me, okay?”

He thought about this. “So, even though you don’t want sex, you prefer me to him?”

“I haven’t met him,” she said, beginning to wonder about schizophrenia and whether she should give the wig back or not. “But, yeah, probably.”

He gave a smug smile. “Well, that’s an improvement, anyway. You don’t have an interest in telegraph poles or Hammond organ music, by any chance?”

“You’re mad,” said Martha and handed the wig back. She had to help him get it straight, since he immediately put it on back to front. “But who am I to judge? I’m running round time and space with a 900 year old alien who wouldn’t notice me if I stripped naked in front of him.”

Rimmer stopped with the hairpiece at an even more ridiculous angle. He sounded almost faint again. “Could you warn me if you’re going to say things like that?”

“Ignore me,” said Martha, wishing she’d thought before she spoke. “And before you ask, I’m not going to strip naked in front of you, either. Let’s get that clear right now.”

*

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor, when she brought him back to the cave. “It _is_ you.”

He instantly became the corny hero he’d been aiming for when she first found him. “Splendid to see you again, matey-boy. How can I be of assistance? What’s this cunning little gadget you’ve constructed, hey? I can see you’ve got everything in hand and don’t need any help from me. Well done! What a clever little fellow you are.”

“Erm, yeah,” said the Doctor, giving him a strange look, but then turning back to his transmitter. “Actually, it’s not quite coming off right. Want to try your luck, Mr Rimmer?”

Martha widened her eyes. Rimmer swallowed and then strode across. “Absolutely. Not that I can add much to the work of genius, but – well, how about if I stick this in here and -”

“Well, actually, I’d have thought that was a bad -”

*

“- idea,” finished the Doctor a few minutes later, after the terrible outburst of sound and the machine repeatedly exploded. He coughed at the smoke. The signal being broadcast was suddenly an ear-splitting jumble of notes thundering across the plain towards the city in the hills. He wafted smoke out of his face and grabbed the device back. “What did you do that for?”

Rimmer choked on the smoke, which at least was enough to account for the sudden oddness of his voice. “Only thought you might have had a problem with your – ah – old whatchamacallits. You know how it is, old boy.”

“No, it was -”

Martha had exited the cave in search of fresh air. Her mouth fell open. “Doctor, the city’s blown up!”

“The city’s -” He paused and then looked at Rimmer with a glare. “I might have known. Has to be something fancy, doesn’t it? Nothing simple for the big fat hero.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, because otherwise she was going to collapse into laughter.

“Well,” said the Doctor, “that’s us done. Nice running into you again, Mr Rimmer. I’m sure you’ll be able to sort your own way out of here.”

Martha said, “Doctor, he’s got a broken leg.”

“Then what’s he doing, walking about on it?”

“Didn’t want to complain, old chum,” said Rimmer. “Space pilot, you know. All in a day’s work. I’ve taken out my enemy in a plane with no engine, a crazy computer trying to kill me, two broken legs and a fractured wrist before now. Got to get on with the job in hand.”

“Well, in that case, you can hop back to your ship.”

*

When the Doctor landed the TARDIS outside the city, beside the small space ship and all but kicked Rimmer out, Martha ran after.

“You remember what I said,” she said. “Just keep the act up, your wig straight and you’ll do fine. And don’t go round propositioning people. It makes you sound desperate. Nobody wants desperate.”

He said, “What if I _am_ desperate?”

She wondered about asking him if he could drop the act and settle for something between his two personas, but she had a feeling it would only confuse him. “Heroic types who fly about the universe in fancy spaceships, saving people right, left and centre aren’t, okay? All you need is a bit of self-confidence.”

“Yes, well, I can’t help the fact that my upbringing left me a twisted emotional wreck,” said Rimmer. “You haven’t met my mother, have you? Or my father, come to that. Or my brothers. I can’t help that I never had any of the breaks and that I was never any use at exams and that nobody ever loved me my entire life -”

Martha glared at him. “Shut up,” she said. “Or you’ll regret it, because it’ll put me off.”

“Okay,” he said, high-pitched again. “Put you off what? You’re not going to hit me, are you? I should warn you, I have an allergy to sudden violence -”

As the Doctor emerged to demand to know what she was doing and why it was taking her so long, she put her arms around him. “You’re my hero, anyway,” she said, with a wink, but not having any means to compel him to a course of counselling, or something equally useless to achieve the effect, kissed him very thoroughly. Once he got over the initial moment of frozen shock, it wasn’t all that hard work, either she thought. Compared to some, maybe he wasn’t such a git, after all.

Plus, the reward at the end of it – seeing the Doctor’s aghast expression – was worth it anyway. She tugged Rimmer’s jacket straight and carefully pointed him in the direction of his ship – just as well, she noted, since he nearly headed off sideways as it was. She gave him a small push and he coughed, instantly becoming more the hammily heroic Ace than he had yet been, walking away, although the over-casualness of his gait was ruined by the limp.

He leapt into the cockpit with a wave. This was then followed by a slight yelp as he recalled his ankle. He started up the engine and said, “Slap me a copper, I’ll be back for Easter.”

Well, thought Martha, you couldn’t have everything, but it was a start.

The Doctor remained, watching the space where his ship had been as it departed with a crazy and – Martha was quite sure – _absolutely accidental_ loop-the-loop for a few minutes. She had to shake him.

“Martha,” he said, “I’d have thought that you’d have more sense than to fall for the superficial charms of a – a -.” Words failed him, so he waved his hands about somewhat wildly instead. That was another achievement.

She took his arm as they walked back into the TARDIS. “He did save our lives – and the planet.”

“I was saving it first,” said the Doctor, shutting the doors and sulking a little. “I think they’d have liked Vivaldi. Don’t you think they’d have liked Vivaldi?”

Martha rolled her eyes and departed for her room, where she could lock the door and not have to explain why she was suffering from a helpless attack of the giggles.

*

“What a guy,” said the Doctor in disgust. “Let’s hope that’s the last time I run into _him_.” And somehow, he’d expected better of Martha. Typical, he thought. _Humans_. Couldn’t see past their noses.

It didn’t explain, though, why he’d distinctly heard her laughing the moment she left the console room.

He set the TARDIS in motion with the fervent hope that next time he had to save the planet – these things did seem to happen, one way or another – no so-called hero with a silly hair-do would come swooping in at the last minute and take the credit. Not, of course, that he did things so people could turn and thank him for it, no, naturally not. That would be silly.

Still, he thought, there was no need to come dashing in, blowing things up and snogging his companions while being so – so _improbable_.

Improbability, he felt, was best left to him, as was saving the planet. Other people just didn’t do it properly.

If he’d only known it, this particular Arnold J Rimmer would have been happy to agree with him. Or at least, until a few minutes ago.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Word Fitly Spoken (The How to Save a Life Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/192562) by [NEStar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NEStar/pseuds/NEStar)




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